


Necessity

by mautadite



Category: Orange is the New Black, Snowpiercer (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, F/F, Holidays, Sexual Content, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2845748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mautadite/pseuds/mautadite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nicky is home for the holidays. In a way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Necessity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slavetohiscat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slavetohiscat/gifts).



> You said OITNB/Snowpiercer crossover and I said ‘HELL YEAH’. I do not, in fact, think that I have stopped saying ‘HELL YEAH’ since then. So I had to get this little treat in too. Enjoy! <3

The last time they take her out of the prison, she thinks they’re going to kill her. She almost starts begging them for it the moment they pull out the metal drawer and the awful bright light burns down on her. It’s not like they could be checking up on her for anything else. They haven’t taken her out for exercise in a week, haven’t bothered to wake her up to let her shit or piss in a couple days either, so she must be rank with her own waste, but she doesn’t care. Nicky wants to die, more than she’s ever wanted a drink, a pussy on her tongue, a block of Kronol. This isn’t fucking living.

But the blow she gets to the head is from the butt of a gun, not a bullet.

“Get the fuck up,” a bored voice says. 

Nicky groans, curling up.

“If you’re gonna fucking shoot me, just do it. I don’t give a fuck about dying with dignity. Just do it.”

She gets another blow, this one in her stomach.

“Not today, monkey. Get up, you’re going back to your jungle.”

This time, she’s convinced that she heard wrong. Nicky opens her eyes, and it feels like the hardest thing she’s ever had to do. The lights are even brighter without her eyelids for a shield, and she can barely make out the two pale, uniformed figures above her. 

“You’re... you’re letting me go?”

“How many times do we have to say it?”

One of them gives her a shove. She’s on the third level of the prison drawers, and from there it’s a long fall to the floor, but Nicky barely feels it. Fuck. She’d never thought she’d be relieved to feel the rumbling and vibrating of the train, unmuffled by layers and layers of sheet metal, the bolts and the ridges of the floor pressing up into her skin. Somehow, she manages to crawl onto her knees, though it feels like she might faint away at any moment.

“ _Why_?” she croaks. One of the guards hauls her up by her arm.

“Fuck if I know. It’s a Yekaterina miracle.”

*

She finds out later, after they’ve made her clean up her cell, and then deposited her unceremoniously back to the tail section. She can hear Red forcing back tears as she barks out orders, calling for the cleanest rags they have and whatever water there is. She feels what has to be Lorna’s hand gripping hers tightly, and fucking hell, if that isn’t one of the best feelings in the world, in the whole wide train. 

It’s all a blur, slipping in and out of consciousness, but later when she’s all clean and bundled up in patchy, donated blankets and sipping from a tin of hot protein sludge, Red explains.

“We can’t be sure, but we’ve been getting waves that there’s been some kind of unrest in the middle cars,” Red says, fussing with Nicky’s hair. Her own hair has long faded from the bright burgundy that it had been when they’d all first scrambled aboard years ago, but the name sticks to her still. “They’re trying to keep it quiet, of course, but Daya got it from Bennett.”

“The middle section?” Again, she’s left to wonder if all that time trapped in a metal womb has left her hearing permanently fucked. “What’ve they got to riot about? Too many rich leftovers from the front?”

Lorna is still at her side, still doing little things like playing with her fingers, kissing her palm, rubbing her cheek against Nicky’s knuckles like some kind of cat. It’s kind of weird, but really cute, like Lorna.

“We think it might be Chapman. Trying to raise awareness or something about how fucked up things are in the tail section.”

“She’ll never stop looking back, that one,” Red says, sounding amazed and exasperated by turns. “In any case, they rounded up most of the culprits, and they needed a place to put them. And so they made room.”

She rests her hand on Nicky’s shoulder rubbing the curve of it. Bile rises in her stomach, the sludge threatening to come back up her throat, but it soon calms back down.

Out because they needed to put other people in... fuck, she’ll take it. She’s just glad to be free, back with Lorna and Red and all the other faces that make this hellhole worth prying your eyes open. 

Red keeps fussing over her; it’ll be a while before she stops. The label on Nicky’s drawer in the prison had said ‘Kronol Addict’, but the truth was, those bastards in the front got fucked up on it way more than anyone in the tail. Nah, they’d just needed some kind of flimsy excuse to put her away. A few months back, Red had raised a few protests of her own, certainly not the first, about the living and eating situation in the tail. 

“Give us more,” she’d pleaded. “We’re not asking for the world, we just want to eat, to cook, to _live_. Just give us something we can live for.”

They’d given her something, all right. They’d given her a few bullets in the wall next to her head, then they’d labelled Nicky as one of her lieutenants, and carted her off.

“Before I heard about the middle cars, I almost thought...” Red laughs, and it’s a harsh kind of mirth. “I almost thought Wilford was being lenient. Kind. We’ll be coming up on Yekaterina Bridge in about a hundred hours, I hear, and on Earth, it would be around Christmas time...”

Nicky’s lips twist up and to the side in a half laugh.

“Bringing me home for the holidays, huh?”

Red blows out a breath, and mops at her brow with a cloth before kissing it with a hard smack.

“Yes, well, whatever the case... I am glad that you are back.”

*

She thinks that she’ll be too tired for sex, too fucked up, too concentrated on reliving the past few months of purgatory. Which goes to show that maybe that place really did make her forget herself a bit; it only takes Lorna five minutes and a sexy smile to get her worked up.

Lorna eats her out slowly, kissing all around her cunt and teasing her before tonguing hard on her clit in the way that drives Nicky absolutely nuts. She comes shouting, and she can hear Poussey yell a few bunks over, “Glad to have you back girl, we missed the background noise!” She smirks.

When she’s fingerfucked Lorna into a melty mess, they curl up together, breathing hard. Lorna kisses her all over her face absently, leaving little red marks everywhere. She’s had that tube of lipstick for four years; Lorna knows how to make a thing last. During the early years, Lorna had been one of the girls they dragged off to the front cars, but they’d soon dropped her back; Nicky had heard one of the guards muttering something about how she was ‘defective’. Fucknut. Lorna had come back with tales of a front section hotshot, some guy named Christopher who was gonna come back and sweep her off her feet and out of this life for good.

There’s been no mention of Christopher for a few years.

Lorna kisses her boob sleepily.

“God... D’you remember Christmas?”

Nicky strokes her hair.

“I remember awkward family dinners, expensive food that somehow managed to be godawful, and never knowing whether my mother was disappointed that I showed up late or that I showed up at all.”

Lorna wrinkles her nose sadly.

“Aw. I wish I coulda spent a Christmas with you on Earth. I’d’ve made you dinner with all the fixings, or at least ordered it from some place fancy. And I woulda put mistletoe all over the house and kissed you underneath all of them.”

“That sounds fucking fantastic.” It really does. It has to be some kind of cosmic joke, that she met this girl literally at the end of the world.

“I wonder what they tell those front section brats about Christmas in the front?” Lorna muses. 

“Probably that jolly old Saint Wil will bring them presents if they’re good,” Nicky says, scratching behind her ear. She’s never met Wilford, but between what she’d heard about him before CW-7 and everything he’s done to make life in the tail section a nightmare for all of them from day one... she sure feels like she knows him. In prison, the guards would taunt her sometimes, saying that Wilford had put her there specifically, and since what Wilford said was concrete and law, she would never get out. Ever.

Apparently, whatever she’s thinking about shows on her face; Lorna cups it.

“Hey,” she says, looking into her eyes. “Who cares about those clowns in the front, right baby? We got all we need here.”

And the thing is... that is such a fucking joke. They don’t have everything they need; they have the bare minimum of what they need to survive, maybe less. The orgasm-y feeling is washing away, and Nicky knows that memories of the prison and the dark will be coming to visit her soon. But Lorna is smiling at her encouragingly and making her feel like everything _could_ be okay, in some distant, less screwed up future.

She holds on to that feeling. She gives Lorna a wet kiss on the cheek, making her giggle. It sounds like music, and a sound like that could drown out a month’s worth of bad memories.

“Yeah. Everything we need.”


End file.
